


Lost and found and turned around

by Mohini



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton's Farm, Gen, emeto, mildly feral assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: He brings her home like a lost puppy. Or perhaps more accurately a feral kitten. She hisses and snarls and doesn’t like it when anyone gets close.
Series: Coming Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621360
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Lost and found and turned around

He brings her home like a lost puppy. Or perhaps more accurately a feral kitten. She hisses and snarls and doesn’t like it when anyone gets close.

It’s Laura who discovers that she’s sick in the night more often than not. She finds her, curled up in the downstairs powder room, pressed into the space between the toilet and the wall – mostly asleep with her cheek resting against the seat.

She considers asking if she wants a blanket. If she wants help to the couch. But the girl is skittish at best and she fears that words will break whatever magic kept her from lashing out when Laura eased the door open at the sound of the quiet heaving. Instead she kneels beside her, no words, no hands outstretched regardless of how much the little redhead needs to be petted, to be gentled, to have stringy curls pulled away from her face and tethered at the nape of her sweaty neck. 

They sit in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional hiccup and splash as Natasha spits up mouthfuls of mucus and bile. The light in the living room window is approaching pink when the girl scoots toward her and flops sideways on the floor, her head landing on Laura’s lap like a child. It’s then that she pets her, stroking tangled curls and taking toilet tissue to wipe the moisture from her chin and brow.

Still no words. They don’t belong here – might damage the peace that’s found its way into this space.

Clint finds them as the sun shines full in the front of the house. Laura in resting with her back against the sink cabinet, a sleeping Natasha beside her, one hand wrapped around Laura’s, the other fisted at her mouth. He raises eyebrows and Laura shakes her head. Moving Clint’s newest pet is a hazard no one needs. Laura will take her upstairs when she wakes. She’s been sitting here long enough to have confirmed what she’s suspected for the last week. The girl is skeletal. Her breathing is ragged with the cadence she learned from her husband means broken ribs. Her hips form sharp peaks above thin legs and her fingernails are blue. Laura wonders if this has been a nightly struggle. She looks so ill, but so resigned to the circumstance that it surely cannot be novel.

She’s nearly made up her mind to wake her and move her somewhere else when her shoulders hitch. She doesn’t even wake before a stream of yellow bile oozes from her lips, her stomach pressing inward and her neck stretching upward with eyes still closed.

Laura turns her a bit, ensures that she doesn’t choke, and pats her between jutting shoulder blades until it passes. Never mind that her thin flannel sleep pants now bear the stain of stomach acids. She’s wiping the last of it from her face when Natasha’s eyes blink open.

“M’sorry,” she whispers, voice raw and weak.

“No worries,” Laura tells her. “I’m a mom. We’re immune to vomit.”

“mmhmm,” Natasha mumbles, eyes slipping closed again.

“Do you want to be somewhere softer?”

A soft shake of the head, fingers wrapping around the bones of Laura’s knee and clinging so tight it will be a miracle if there aren’t bruises. She’s tiny, but damn is she strong.

Laura hazards a guess at what the refusal means, hoping she’s right because if not she’s going to wipe out any progress made overnight. “I’ll stay with you.”

“M’sorry,” Natasha says again, but the grip loosens and she pushes herself mostly upright, head now resting on Laura’s shoulder.

An arm around her like drunk coeds, she tugs her fully to her feet and guides her out of the bathroom, down the narrow hall and to the couch. Clint will tend to the baby. He’s clueless at times but he’ll know that this little skittish woman child needs her more than their busy baby does right now.

She eases her to the cushions, grabbing a throw from the back of the sofa and wrapping it around them both. Natasha resumes her curled up spot, head in Laura’s lap, fingers now clinging tight to Laura’s hand.

“Shhh,” Laura croons at her, speaking in the tone she would the baby after a rough night. There’s a fine line between care and smothering. She’s not interested in toeing it just yet.

“You rest,” she tells the assassin in her lap. “Just rest.”


End file.
